Ripples in the Sea: Shark Tales
by InsaneScriptist
Summary: Choices have consequences. Going to the past to destroy the future? Ambitious. Starting at twelve or so? Not impossible but unlikely. Good thing that Squalo's audacious enough for it. Sequel to Ripples in the Sea of Time.
1. Chapter 1

Ripples in the Sea of Time: Shark Tales by InsaneScriptist

Beta'd by the majestic Umei no Mai

Summary: Choices have consequences. Going to the past to destroy the future? Ambitious. Starting at twelve or so? Not impossible but unlikely. Good thing that Squalo's audacious enough for it.

* * *

Squalo woke up to the sound of his parents arguing. Which was funny since they'd been divorced since he was in his late teens and all the happier for it.

And that wasn't odd since he was back in his body as it was at twelve. Because damn if the cow-trash hadn't managed to follow through on his promises there. He was back! It was almost worth laughing about, if things hadn't gone to shit in the future.

Oh and there was his mother yelling. His father was too. Yeah, he remembered this argument. Or the general jist of it. This was one of the bad ones. And right before a math test too... That explained why he was at his desk studying.

Or was trying to. Math was not his greatest subject but not his weakest one either. It was just that past a certain level, math was rather useless to an assassin and daily living so he didn't care for it. It was for calculating percentages, measuring, figuring distance, determining how much fuel was needed to travel here, layover times and so on. Simple shit really, not the fancy shit that was needed to plot a graph of a cubic equation. Which he remembered nothing about, so he should probably study it. Enough to pass the test anyway.

He was more of a trig and geometry person, which was why he was glad that while the Varia did require seven languages to join, they didn't require calculus. That's right, he was going to get scouted for that soon-ish, so he'd have a few possible Varia watchers looking for potential; next few months soon-ish. The Varia didn't just invite a brat still in school to join them without stalking them first. They didn't look at middle school students as a rule because most weren't Quality, but Squalo had recently turned twelve and he remembered that he would be approached by a teacher soon about skipping his last year of middle school, so he'd be in high school.

It was part of why he went back to before he joined the Varia. More freedom of movement, relatively. Fewer eyes actually, because once Tyr was dead, he had been busy as fuck working on understanding the Varia, without much of a background in leadership. So while he may have looked like he knew what he was doing, he learned most of that from Xanxus after a few months of leading the Varia.

The Varia being curious little shits that they were, would follow him unless intimidated otherwise and being a teenager -no matter how skilled- cut into the intimidation factor unless you were a creepy little shithead like Bel. Or were just naturally intimidating like Boss but most teenagers weren't like that. Squalo wasn't.

There was a crash in the background, because he was vaguely sure that his mother was a little drunk and had reason to be since his father had missed their anniversary despite a previous agreement of trying to do better.

He wondered darkly if his father had already started cultivating his mistress at this point, since after Delf i n a... shit! If he could hear his parents his sister certainly could!

His sister's room wasn't that far away and no one would notice him leaving his room, so he did. She was tinier than he remembered, but that happened when he last saw her as a grown adult and she was still so little. They had quite the age gap between them so she hadn't even started school; her education with various toys and such yes, but not school because his sister was nearly a decade younger than he was. And already imitating his bad habits, while choosing a few more of her own. She was going to end up cranky, missing sleep.

Delfina was the youngest of Squalo's siblings and it was probably for the best that she had never met their older brother, with her being conceived after his death, and the conception was certainly an 'oops' on his parents' part; otherwise they would have likely parted ways earlier. Squalo would have liked to have said that he missed his older brother, had fond memories of him and so on but he didn't so Squalo never bothered mentioning him at all. To be honest he didn't mention family much at all, leading to a rather useful if persistent impression that his parents were dead.

Delfina however... she already had that ghastly coping mechanism in place or at least the start of it, and had already started with sign language if not exactly proper sign language since that was a bit hard to teach to a toddler. Squalo wasn't sure his parents had noticed yet that she was more interested in signing than speech since she was still at the child babble makes no sense stage, but they'd probably get to the point of taking her to the doctor sometime in the next year. Or was it the year after that? That bit of family drama at least made his parents play nice for a little longer. In public at least.

If she didn't hear the argument, then she could pretend it didn't happen. And while people using Flames young -even without knowing that it was Flames they were using- were pretty rare, they did happen. And there were often complications, generally because normal went out the window at the first sign of colored fire. Yeah, it was when she was four or so that she first used her Flames and that usage wasn't as obvious as a fiery aura; Mist Flames didn't quiet have the density for that without focusing them, but they could be used to block out sound. Not always, but that was later when she was older and knew how to control said Flames.

Squalo responded appropriately, a bit clumsy because he had to keep the flourishes and fancy fingerwork that the Varia used to turn a simple 'can't sleep, fine' into six other phrases, with varying context. No need to say, 'didn't sleep and happier for it' with all the implications that could be furthered with a bit of body language.

He patted his sister's head, went back to grab his work, returned to her room with his math book and a notebook and started humming 'La Marseillaise' complete with the verses not in France's national anthem, so the song lasted longer. Not really lullaby material but his sister seemed to like it.

It seemed apropos to hum while planning a route to see the Giglio Nero Donna, because really, that was going to take some doing and he'd rather have things settled within twenty-four hours and that seemed a bit more important than a math test that he was rather sure he had barely passed the first time around.

He'd just re-take it later, since he could probably justify running off for a day as adolescent rebellion considering his home life right now. Well if he wanted to draw attention to said homelife, which he didn't, so maybe he should make sure he'd pass it. Plus he had to set about preparing for the day ahead, like a change of clothing so he wasn't in a school uniform.

He had almost twenty years of experience of being Varia; this would be easy.

* * *

There were a few things that Squalo forgot to consider:

His body was twelve and wasn't used to four hours of sleep a night.

His mother decided to drop him off at school personally, which did happen occasionally but rarely and usually before she decided to run off to her relatives for a while. Well at least he'd not have to dodge her at home for a bit; his mother was sharp and that he was about half-sure his father wasn't actually as committed to their marriage as she was would be something she might pick up on. Especially the bit about his father's possible mistress.

His father was gone before Squalo even was dragged away from slumber by his alarm clock to get ready for school, so Squalo suspected that his father was likely going to only show up in the evenings for meals on occasion. Just him, Delfina and the housekeeper then.

Math was his first class of the day and he was rather sure he had bombed that test. Not massively so, but he had probably drooled on it before the teacher picked it up at the end of class since he fell asleep partway through it.

And nearly twenty years of being Varia meant that anyone trying to wake him up in a normal fashion ended up a lot of menace and killing intent thrown in their direction and he probably made some person piss themselves when they disturbed him, so they decided to let him sleep.

It obviously wasn't his day.

Squalo had woken up in time to not miss all of his last class before lunch and was a model enough student once he woke up. Like Japan, classes in Italy stayed put with the exception of certain classes that required specific equipment or structures, so he didn't have to tromp across campus to the music building or one of the science labs. Good news was that a classmate did tell him what he had missed in terms of class and homework.

Bad news was that his teacher had decided to take offense to Squalo sleeping in class at all but the problem with them doing that was that it was one of the foreign language teachers and Squalo had nearly two decades of Varia experience; fluency was no trouble, nor was accent or cultural knowledge.

Hell, he had even managed not to swear too much.

Needless to say that was a fiasco and Squalo decided that he was skipping the rest of the day. Usually school meant a few classes, then break and another class until one or so in the afternoon depending on the class, subject and school. He'd have to get whatever he had missed from a classmate, but honestly, Squalo didn't care about his grades too much. Never had, when his first passion was the sword and mastering it.

So Squalo rolled this one guy's motorcycle out of where it was parked and down the street a little way before he hotwired it. Squalo honestly didn't remember the guy's name, but did remember that this guy's parents financed at least ten or so vehicles before they stopped buying him new ones, so really he was saving the motorcycle from being destroyed somehow. Was he taking them apart or something? If he was crashing them he'd have spent more time off school and possibly killed himself before racking up that high a body count; then again, some people really were that lucky.

At least with a motorcycle he didn't have to try to reach the pedals, because that would be really fucking frustrating.

* * *

The most annoying part of the trade school that was the mafia academy was that it was all the way over in Calatafimi-Segesta; the town itself was under Vongola control, managed by one of the underbosses, but was surrounded on three other Vongola-aligned powers: the Lanza, the Alliata and his own Famiglia who pretty much ruled all the area north of Marsala all the way over to Castellammare del Golfo. Furthermore it was close to Cavallone interests in Castellammare del Golfo, the Rocca were pretty much next door in Alcamo, while the Zanasi and Scarlatti held a lot of the territory around Marsala, until they ran up against Alliata's territory.

In effect this meant that the mafia academy was in the center of the Vongola dominated western half of Sicily. And the Giglio Nero were a neighboring neutral family on the Vongola's eastern side. Pretty much a buffer, that the Vongola might be willing to help should they be attacked, for a price. Which was unlikely to happen since the eastern half of Sicily wasn't a breeding ground for the mafia. Historically, but migrations and the transferal of ideals happened historically too. So most of the famiglias that were there were small and fiercely independent; the rest were planted there by the Vongola mostly during the reign of Ottava's father to protect their interests, so those ones were mostly along the high way to Messina for the ferry for when people wanted to get to the mainland. Which was why the Vongola managed Termini Imerese and the Giglio Nero had all the area around the Parco delle Madonie and were officially based in Castelbuono, with all sorts of little hideaways in the mountains.

First off he'd have to get from Calatafimi to Alcamo, which was easy; he knew the land and how people watched it from here to there. Then from there, he'd have the choice to head up to Palermo and go along the sea until he had to head back into the mountains in Giglio Nero territory. Other options included going through the mountains in Varia territory -which were watched, if mostly by newbies- or zig-zagging through smaller highways and along the lines of the territory held directly by the Vongola really, he could end up in Prizzi if he didn't head towards the sea in the north. Admittedly he'd be going through Lanza territory in Corleone and passing pretty close by Camporeale but there'd still be a lot of backtracking because of the mountains and lack of roads.

The safest route for clandestine travel, so far as he could figure, was not along the sea road, no matter how quick and well-maintained the roads might be; plus there were tolls and he didn't have a helmet. Going to Palermo just wasn't worth the effort when he could turn off at Partinico, pass San Guiseppe Jato, go through Corleone and pass through the prissy Prizzi's territory. Then he'd start heading north east, going through Fontanamurata and hit mountain roads he'd have to try not to kill himself on until he reached the Giglio Nero's home base; just looking at those roads on a map had been bad enough. Most of the business done by them was in that area, so it was a good bet that Donna Aria would be around there somewhere.

After that, he'd be playing things by ear, because really the riskiest part of the whole scheme was dependent on her benevolence and playing on her maternal feelings for her eventual child, who was probably being used by Byakuran after her death.

If nothing else, he did write down a list of shit he needed to do and why, in case his future mind went back to the future. No need to just have one desperate may-work and half-crazy plan when you can have multiple ones.

* * *

The thing was, it was about two hours from the mafia academy to Prizzi. Then another hour and a half to where he could take his choice of crazy mountain roads, around the SS120. From there it was about another two hours to Castelbuono and who knew how long the business with the Giglio Nero would take, so Squalo was grateful there was no school tomorrow. His ass was _dead_ from all that riding.

Thankfully the motorcycle had a full tank and he re-filled before he got to Prizzi and took a more circular way out of Corleone; it was not paranoia if you just made them think you took it out for a joy-ride should anyone seriously kick up a fuss, and Squalo was tall enough at twelve to pass for a woman, if a young one. He had to change out of his school uniform, because while the mafia academy was officially a trade school, it was still a private school and that meant a uniform of sorts; planning to skip the entire day meant he had a different set of clothes all prepared before his mother had otherwise ruined that plan but he had just tossed them in his school bag with his books before leaving for school. Squalo had forgotten how much he had hated those trousers, because they're hideous and would offend Lussuria to his very soul and dress code violations were probably the least infractions Squalo's going to pull off in school, since he's flagrantly breaking the law on numerous fronts right now. Not that anyone pulls him over or thinks anything suspicious about him driving.

Speeding may sound like a wonderful idea to shorten the trip but he'd rather not deal with the police. The good thing about borrowing his classmate's motorcycle is that due to omerta, it's not going to get reported as stolen. And really, there's a reason that most in the mafia academy are dropped off and picked up and it's because there's more than just one student who'd hotwire unsecured vehicles on a whim. It's something of a shame that hotwired vehicles tend to act up a lot once fixed, since it's a good bike even if he spent nearly six hours killing his ass on it.

Few proper mafia famiglias live inside any town or city; most have an estate on the outskirts so that they're close enough for all the attractions of urban living and none of the drawbacks, so Squalo kills his ass some more, meandering around the outskirts as he looks for Flame traces.

He's not Bel or Boss who can track a person for miles with the barest of traces, but he's certainly not blind to them and yeah, a couple of klicks outside of Castelbuono is the Giglio Nero stronghold.

And yes, he can feel the Arcobaleno Curse from here; Aria was a little older than Boss' age and hadn't started attending the Vongola parties and so on until she was nearly twenty from what he remembered of the gossip, so she's around eighteen or so. Mostly he remembers that she started showing up a few months after Boss was frozen, so there's that. He does know that the Giglio Nero do have a property in Palermo, as do most mafia famiglias of a certain affluence, for a certain value of 'in'; Palermo was always a few murders away from a complete upset in the balance of power and a bloody street war. As the ruling powers of Palermo knew this, they tried to keep everything reasonably civil, so it was practically neutral territory. In some spots.

He cut off the engine and looked at the simple manor; it's not built to impress, but Squalo could admire the defensive potential. There was a solid and functional wall surrounding the place, not a mere garden wall but something that could take a hit, being a few feet thick. The gate wasn't a fancy wrought metal one on exposed hinges; the sun would shine from behind the mountains before setting and thus put the area into an early dark and blinding any afternoon invaders. Dawn was a different story, but again, the mountains meant that it would only blind them for a bit in the morning; maybe around eight or so in the morning depending on the time of the year? Then again, it wasn't like the trees would take off the worst of that and they weren't close enough to be a hazard for any defensive purposes. There was a solid kill zone from the trees to the wall, and if the Giglio Nero didn't have their own well here, he'd be surprised; the trees alone said they had plenty of water.

A guard detached themselves from the wall, and told Squalo that he was expected. Yes, well, that's what being a seer meant. Knowing things in advance.

Squalo was let in the front door, although he had to surrender his sword, because even at twelve he never went anywhere without it if he could get away with it. The front door opened up to an entrance hall that was practically cozy. Still defensible, but the decor was less showing off wealth and more of a mish-mash between what was built into the place and what was decorating. No still lives or landscapes that he could see, but a lot of religious art.

He was led to the right and through three more rooms, where he saw he was in a study and possible office, along with Donna Aria. This was obviously a converted space, from what was originally a library, since the large room had access to an upper level through an internal and spiraling stair case. Plus lots of books.

"Squalo, I've been waiting a while to see you." She said confidently, thankfully leaving off his family name and waving away her men. They didn't protest that though, so that was interesting.

"Oh?" He'd not even been back for twenty-four hours yet.

"Yes, so it's best that we get this bit of business out of the way first. Your hand please?"

Squalo extended his right hand, and she held it as the pacifier around her neck flashed a soft orange light. He didn't feel much different. A little off, but there were all kinds of explanations for that. He still felt like him, the older him that he remembered, but a little different still. He wasn't sure what had happened. Ideas yes, but he wasn't a Mist. He felt a bit more settled, oddly or not so oddly enough. More like he belonged here, instead of being a mental interloper in his own but younger body.

"That certainly confirmation that it is a less than ideal future," she muttered, clearly angry about it. "I understand, maybe too much, but that is not a good way to go about things even if doing so may accidentally save the world."

"I'm failing to follow your reasoning for that." Squalo admitted, as his mind was currently wondering if it was just an integrated copy of his future mind in terms of thought patterns, knowledge and memories.

"I shall be blunt. The Arcobaleno were dead. We're Cursed yes, but being alive serves the purpose in keeping the world alive, or so my mother said and as I Saw before I accepted being Cursed. I didn't want it, but I dared not do otherwise. The Arcobaleno act as power-sources to balance the Flames of the World and without that balance, the world ends up Wrong and a series of natural disasters would kill over ninety percent of the world's population in less than a decade. In that sense, it's a small sacrifice, but one that's likely to kill me and certainly damn my daughter and my famiglia if this particular future comes to pass."

"And so you want help." Squalo surmised.

"Clearly. The Curse impedes my ability, letting the Curse run its course until the next time the Arcobaleno are chosen is a poor one, for all that it is a survivable one for my daughter without outside interference."

"But not the rest of the Arcobaleno?" Squalo asked, thinking of Mammon.

"Skies are rare and while her life wouldn't be much longer than mine, my grandchildren wouldn't have been Cursed; the Curse getting passed onto another Sky and a new set of Arcobaleno before the Curse was finished for a few decades. The rest of the Arcobaleno have been doomed since my mother said nothing to them prior to getting Cursed herself, as far as I can tell. I imagine there's a way to free them, but I just don't know how and I don't have the ability to remove the Curse or the pacifiers. I just don't know enough, but I'm not willing to be the cause of the end of the world by not wearing it."

"The rest of the Arcobaleno do need a Sky Arcobaleno. For the Harmony factor." Squalo said and pointedly didn't ask.

"Yes, and balancing their Flames with mine is not easy. The Vongola may be the most powerful mafia famiglia, but they're not led by the most powerful Sky. Doing it will kill me, but not for some years yet."

"Huh." He'd always known that Boss was the most powerful of the Vongola's selection of Skies, but the little Primo-copy wasn't far off either in terms of strength. Aria as she was, felt a significant bit more powerful than Enrico, the weakest of Nono's sons; closer to Federico's own level than Enrico. Federico wasn't amazingly strong, but certainly strong enough that no one really minded that Massimo had more Flames since Federico had the better qualifications to be Decimo. Like actual Guardians and a decent attitude.

And this was Aria who was reduced to what Flames the pacifier wasn't consuming. He believed that. He could. The Arcobaleno were monsters.

But something was nagging at him.

"You said confirmation, but you also said that your Sight is hampered. How did you know?"

"Because you're not the first with a bit of mental temporal displacement. I had a visitor, a little over a month after my mother's death."

It couldn't have been Boss. Boss had no desire to relive parts of his childhood and unlike Squalo, he found being watched by just the Varia instead of everyone to be a relief. Boss had planned to go back to the day he had learned he was adopted... had the cow messed up?

He doubted it, but then he realized who else it could have been. "Bel." Because there was no way that the little shithead wouldn't go back in time, just to kill his brother again.

Aria only nodded. "He visits sometimes."

As if that wasn't creepy at all, but that was Bel all over. Brat was six or so, and really how long ago had he gone back? Because how old had Aria been after her mother passed? Asking that would have been a rude question. "Not surprising," Squalo said instead.

"You're staying for a meal. I believe you missed lunch after all."

And see, this was the sort of shit seers did. Squalo already hated it.


	2. Chapter 2

Ripples in the Sea of Time: Shark Tales by InsaneScriptist

Beta'd by the organized Umei no Mai

Summary: Choices have consequences. Going to the past to destroy the future? Ambitious. Starting at twelve or so? Not impossible but unlikely. Good thing that Squalo's audacious enough for it.

* * *

Squalo did stay for the meal; it was good stuff and the Giglio Nero were a tight-knit family, pretty much like a real wholesome family get-together with the sit-down dinner and people on guard duty wandering in and out, taking rolls and other bits in napkins. Apparently that was one of the reasons that the guards were doubled or tripled up like that, since of the few pairs he had managed to spot prior to entering, he had only seen one half of them wander in for food during the meal.

It was odd, but he could see what the appeal was for some people to do meals like this; at least once every so often. Especially in a smaller famiglia like this, although he was under the impression that it was something like this at all the Giglio Nero bases. It was still low-key freaky how Donna Aria was the sort that did make use of her powers for little things, like making sure that a particular bit of food went to this person on guard duty or that person who was elsewhere doing other things. It wasn't what he expected a Seer to do, but if all of this had been previously arranged then he had to give props for how elaborate it was.

He wasn't leaning towards it being arranged, as it felt too natural in its rhythms. He also had no idea why her men were being so friendly. As a rule, men in the mafia weren't friendly unless there were small children involved and even then generally only in public spaces because image was a very useful tool. At twelve, Squalo wasn't the sort of brat that would fall into that category.

And then he remembered Bel, Donna Aria's strong grip on the hearts of her men and yeah, it made sense for them to behave for strange guests that appeared on her doorstep and got invited to dinner. If Bel hadn't already left a trail of bodies somewhere for a media frenzy to set upon and prompt Nono to send a messenger about Bel's behavior… oh, wait that's not his problem anymore.

This was apparently a benefit of being twelve; he's not Varia yet and neither is Bel and so he's not responsible for Bel. None of Bel's messes, his 'projects' and whims were Squalo's responsibility.

It was telling that even the idea of dealing with puberty again couldn't dint his mood after that.

* * *

Squalo had managed to wave off the Donna's invitation to stay the night. He could get away with disappearing for a while, but anything longer than select periods of time and he was going to be in serious trouble. He was already going to be in trouble because it was late already -he had spent about seven hours on his stolen vehicle so far today- and there was no way he was going to get home before nightfall. The mountains might have put things into early dark, but maybe, if he felt like risking his ride and his life, he might manage midnight; it wasn't like rural Sicily had the best roads or even all that many streetlights. He might be going along the highway, but not all of it was going to be in the best repair, much less lit up with street lights. Two or three in the morning was a more likely case.

Getting in trouble was something he thought on, while killing his ass again on the drive back, because he would be in trouble. He could only blame 'home problems' for so much 'acting up'. He can't blame that for new skills he has had no reason or time to learn. He was in the body of his twelve year old self; there was only so much time for people to learn things and he just hasn't had the time to gain the experience and know-how he actually had.

It was probably why people had thought he had run off close-by, since he had no other means of transport than his feet -in theory- or at least found somewhere to practice outside of the academy, if he hadn't already gone home; people liked to lie to their own conscious. His parents wouldn't have noticed his absence but the staff would have. That said staff was used to his older brother doing things like abducting his younger brother until dark or later, so it was notable as Squalo's first time sneaking about and doing stupid shit by himself but not really out of the ordinary. That one guy's motorcycle getting stolen would be written off as coincidence by the school, especially if it turned up later, clearly hot-wired. He'd have to wipe it down for prints though, as a precaution and find some way to keep any possible scent traces from pointing at him but that was only sensible when dealing with stolen vehicles.

Squalo remembered that being a subject for a bit in high school, not that he'd ever taken it as class was geared toward older students that could drive legally since the first and most important part of driving stolen vehicles was not looking like you were taking it for a joyride as a dumb teenager. It wasn't Civic Studies which was fancy speak for 'Mafia History and Politics' but some other polite sounding alternative; Technical Studies or something like that. Ignorance, at least believable ignorance was quite an alibi here. He couldn't have stolen the motorbike if he didn't know how. He'd have to try and remember _when_ and _where_ he had learned things if he was going to keep this 'I'm twelve and ignorant' act going any longer.

The main kink in the plan of being gone too long was his parents' housekeeper, Rossella. Unlike his parents, she was there full-time being maid, nanny and cook, although she did have a few assistants. It wasn't like the house required more than a few people for upkeep, being small-ish and mostly valued for its location, being within a short drive of mafia school. It was practically the mafia's suburban version of Palermo with fewer foreign factions competing for power and influence. Less tension generally, because the people nearby generally wanted their children to do well in school, so targeting anyone in this area was usually a terrible idea. Even if it wasn't the parents that stayed around having or wanting to be elsewhere, there were housekeepers and bodyguards and so on to consider as eyes and guns. No one was so blind to the possibility of violence, although most just watched the student drama. Probably put bets on it too, to stave off boredom.

In his parent's case, they weren't really important enough to rate a bodyguard by default and had never bothered to hire a personal one; they just weren't prominent enough since they were only tangentially connected to the mafia in their business dealings and that was mostly through various relations. Most Sicilian Superbi were some brand of criminal after all, but his mother's immediate and more extended family were civilian through and through, although who they married frequently was not; the Soave had selective ignorance of criminal activities down to an artform. His parents had a few people for security but Squalo didn't remember them being too spectacular, beyond being intimidating-looking to most of the scum. Mostly they were drivers and door-greeters, not anything fancy or particularly skilled.

Rossella was a different story; a once-widowed, never-going-to-even-think-about-marrying-again type with a spring in her step and lots of disapproving looks at his parents' behavior. And at his brother, back when Otario had still been around. She was practically his only responsible parent in some ways, since both his parents were lacking in the parenting aspects although his mother at least tried to interact with him a lot more often than he remembered his father ever bothering with. Hiring her was probably one of his parents' better decisions, although he was pretty sure that Rossella's employment contract was with his mother only, although Squalo couldn't remember his father ever dallying with the cleaning staff. The man was probably smart enough not to approach Rossella, who would rebuff him then ensure her employer found out exactly what had happened. Plus he liked to think that his father wasn't so classless to fuck another woman in the home he shared with his wife.

Yeah, she was going to be so pissed at him and he was going to end up with her being extra vigilant for weeks; she'd probably assume it was due to last night's fight though, which could have unpredictable consequences later. For practically a civilian she was pretty sharp. Both her and his mother, but Rossella was a more immediate concern than his mother.

Squalo was not looking forward to Rossella's lectures or any comparison to his older brother; he understood that she'd be worried, but he'd rather not have to deal with her fears that he'd meet the same fate as Otario. Otario had been dead before he turned fifteen and had possessed all the nurturing personality of a rabid mongoose. Somehow still ended up dead with a few of his buddies at least wounded one day; Squalo hadn't really bothered learning the details, more involved in celebrating being an only child. Well until his parents' efforts at consoling each other led to Delfina.

And if Otario hadn't ended up shot dead, then Squalo probably would have gutted him by now -or at least seriously attempted to. That was less sibling rivalry and more just plain incompatibility with years of frustration piled on top; more than just a difference of opinion, ideals and methods. As Pantera had once phrased it, Otario had all his parents' worst traits. It was an unflatteringly bland description for the sort of emotionally manipulative and overly controlling shit Otario pulled off all the time, generally in the name of brotherly love. There was a reason that Squalo didn't have friends, because passionate or not, he wasn't utterly focused on learning the sword to the exclusion of everything else. He liked having people around to talk to and bounce ideas off, what with being an actually moderately balanced human being and all. Not everyone in the Varia was as crazy as the Officers and a number of them he had actually been friendly with, before they died or retired or...  


It -his brother, what happened in the future- was also a lot of shit he didn't want to think about. Not now, not when he was still trying to get a cohesive grip on the fact he was in the past and changing things. So he'd have to figure out how to change things to his benefit. That he could do while driving a motorcycle down mountain roads even though the 'sun' was already down, due to the mountains throwing the entire place into 'early' dark, although by the time he was out of the mountains, it really would be dark.

Thankfully, one of those would be happening when he was moved up to high school, having skipped his last year of middle school if things progressed similarly this time. He'd have the opportunity to meet the young Dino Cavallone before Dino's elder brother broke his neck in a riding accident and thus Dino required immediate remedial lessons via Reborn for the Cavallone to have any hope of staying together when Dino's old man died not very long afterwards. There'd be other heirs, heiresses and notables in his classes and years too. People worth being connected to, especially now that he'd have a relatively fresh start and not have his older brother being a pointed sword of Damocles at someone's neck. Last time he'd been twelve he'd been stuck in the habit of not being friendly so hadn't bothered, but this time around he could take advantage.

It would be beneficial; not just for him but the Varia later. One of the Varia's main issues was it's lack of useful political connections. Politics controlled funding, image and mission flow, especially before Squalo's first world tour when they expanded their client list five-fold in the first six months and made them known as pros within parts of organized crime with sufficient international connections the world over.

Not just for the Varia either; one of the main issues in the future was that Nono's ideology -and thus the crap that was taught to the 'Decimo'- made the Vongola, its allies and affiliates weaker. So having a few people with their heads on straight before things went to shit would be wise. It's one thing to be dedicated to your ideas, it's another to try an impossible one like trying to change human nature. Best to get his own spin out their early and embedded in people's heads before Nono tried to scoop out their brains and fill their skulls with fluff.

Human nature had pretty much been the same for ages. Sure it got shaped by culture in how it was expressed, but there was graffiti and dick jokes on Pompeii and dick jokes in Leonardo da Vinci's notebooks and people made dick jokes in the future he remembered too. Trying to make people less greedy wasn't something that would happen. Just thinking about trying to do so while running a mafia organization of any size, after your own sons were dead and you were bringing in a new foreign heir… might as well bring a lamb to slaughter. Idealism was all well and good, until it was failed by reality. Then the idealist either broke, went bonkers and tried to force their idealism people through violence or ended up dead. Nono's chosen dupe obviously went with choices one and three. Choice three saved the Varia the effort of killing him, even if his death fucked over the morale of a lot of the Vongola's allies.

The Millefiore also had its start somewhere and the Vongola didn't know where the Millefiore had gained all its resources before the Gesso and Giglio Nero joined. The Varia had suspicions but between general CEDEF incompetence, the Vongola's complacency and lots of other things they had been practically blind to the rise of the Millefiore until the Millefiore started attacking the Vongola. Tracking down funding and such being done by the Varia was obviously hampered by Mammon's death and the resource constraints of the time.

As much as he wanted to go track down this Byakuran Gesso and messily murder him, that would have to wait a bit. For one, he had no idea of where the Gesso were currently based. Two, he was twelve and had restrictions on travel that an adult -or at least a teenager that could pass for adult up close- had. He had commitments, school and other things to do. Plus the brat was probably still a toddler and those kinds of kills always got far too much attention. Even if the kill was an 'accident.'

He was going to have to think on some things more. A lot of things. Fuck it all, he was going to have to be friendly to his classmates for some of it. Which would be terrible enough if he were twelve instead of mentally thirty-two, or near enough.

* * *

There were a couple of conclusions that Squalo reached on his long drive back. Some tied back into observations he hadn't registered earlier.

Donna Aria had no women of note in her immediate circle. She probably had women in her staff and knew women who were married to her peers, but the Giglio Nero were neutral and fiercely clannish. A lack of women either said lack of ability or a lack of people trying. And it was hard to be neutral in the right way, as a neighboring mafia to the Vongola lacking significant power, to make the Vongola say, 'not worth the effort of trying to conquer when the long approach might work.' The Giglio Nero weren't weak, maybe just a little old-fashioned, but it had been the people in the black Milliefiore uniforms that the Varia had actually considered to be a lot more threatening. The people who were actually Giglio Nero.

What Squalo was getting at was that she likely didn't have many people she knew as peers, much less friends considering she was a mafia Donna. Those were rather rare, but not unknown or entirely unique. But to lack even a female hitman? Well either they were somewhere else or just weren't there at all in the first place.

That was something that could be used. If only he could figure out how. Having closer ties to the Giglio Nero would mean that whatever Byakuran did to get Yuni to go along with him and thus suborn the entire Giglio Nero could be prevented, although it wouldn't stop the Curse of the Sky Arcobaleno from killing Aria. Pride alone would prevent such an offer of defense from being accepted; never mind the terms that Nono would likely make. Nono Vongola was a different collection of issues though so...

How did going back in time result in him planning a political coup and planning a possible assassination of Don Vongola? Passing the Vongola on would be wise, because fuck if Nono Vongola wasn't making a hash of things already. As it was, Xanxus would be fourteen soon and the incidents that made him a favored candidate as Decimo would be starting up soon after that. They'd be kept pretty hush-hush, but if Squalo managed to get enough people to his side, then tossed in his weight behind Xanxus as Varia... well it could almost be a bloodless coup if they didn't want to do the shadow king routine on one of Xanxus' adoptive brothers. Which could be fun, slowly ripping power away from Nono and Iemitsu.

Eh, he was Varia. Or had been; hopefully he was still Quality regardless. Fuck he'd figure out tenses later, once he figured out being twelve again.


	3. Chapter 3

Ripples in the Sea of Time: Shark Tales by InsaneScriptist

Beta'd by the majestic Umei no Mai

Summary: Choices have consequences. Going to the past to destroy the future? Ambitious. Starting at twelve or so? Not impossible but unlikely. Good thing that Squalo's audacious enough for it.

* * *

Squalo ditched the motorcycle about half a mile away from the private academy he and a lot of other mafia-affiliated kids attended, taking care to wipe it with his sleeve to smear any fingerprints beyond recognition as any sensible person should after stealing and hotwiring a motorcycle; he even wiped the wires he had had to fiddle with to get it to start which tool a while out of thoroughness. This is why Squalo liked wearing gloves; didn't have to worry about shit like this.

His broken sense of time said it was somewhere after two, but not quite three in the morning when he did so. Anything more specific than that was out of the question; his inner time clock was busted and had been for ages. The Varia knew not to trust Squalo's estimates on how long things would take; 'a while' could be anywhere from a few minutes to half a day but he'd get around to everything eventually. Which was the point of being non-specific about how long things might take, because Squalo knew he'd never get it right. His asshole Boss had never let him forget the one time he had been over a week late getting back after a mission, but that's what happened when a blizzard made ground travel impossible for a few days and then another one grounded air traffic.

It was still full-dark out by the time he approached his childhood and technically still his current home. Maybe it was three in the morning? The walk there went about as expected and was utterly dead quiet due to absolutely nobody else being out and about, as he didn't get lost since he knew the streets pretty well even if he passed most of them on the way to and from school; few places had very capable exterior cameras at this point, being that even in the mafia visual surveillance was pretty shitty in the 90s. It was just a long-ish walk and all the street-lights were out since this was technically a rural area, so they went out at midnight and didn't come back on again until four in the morning. His day had been trying enough, the sort of enough that made him think breaking in would be a good idea, except there were all kinds of sensors on the windows and doors, so going in through the front was honestly the best idea. Yes, he could bypass the security, but that was a bit more trouble than it was worth when it would mean getting asked 'how did you get past the motion detectors?' and other important and potentially embarrassing questions.

So Squalo gave the door guards his most intimidating stare and was let in with a minimum of fuss; Squalo probably shouldn't have threatened them by saying he'd cut them off at their knees if they didn't hurry up, but he blamed sleep deprivation. Sleep deprivation was known to make people irritable and Squalo had a lot of things to be annoyed at. More so than the usual twelve year old. Fuck, he was twelve and thought of himself as a thirty-something year old assassin. _Thirty-three_ , he realized upon doing the math while walking through the house.

Squalo shucked off his shoes once he was in his room, pulled off the school uniform he had covering his 'spare' clothing then removed that too. His alarm clock said it was a glorious twenty-two minutes before four a.m. Not exactly an ideal time to go to bed if he wanted to go to Mass… he locked his door, put a chair under the handle at an angle to keep it closed and then fell into bed. Secure as he was going to get on short notice.

He'd wake up later and deal with the consequences of his actions today then. Yesterday. Because the most unfortunate part of being twelve was that adults did actually have nominal power over him, no matter how dumb or lacking in sense they might be.

* * *

He woke up at seven thirty eight according to his alarm clock, when he glanced blearily at it.

Then he decided it was too early and went back to sleep.

* * *

Squalo woke up buried under blankets and with the vague pressure that said he needed to use the bathroom.

He poked his head out from the blankets, looked at the alarm clock again and figured that nearly two in the afternoon meant it was time to get up. A quick visit to the bathroom saw his bladder relieved and a shower had him clean of yesterday's muck. The shower was refreshing and reminded him that he actually did have a flesh and blood left hand now. He had gotten so used to ignoring odd sensory input from a variety of prosthetic left hands and had been so focused on his 'mission' to see Donna Aria that he had ignored the fact he had both his flesh and blood hands. Admittedly seeing Donna Aria was a bit higher up on his priority list than marveling over having a hand again, if only because one of the potential dangers of having his mind sent back so far was that it would stress his brain, possibly to the point of seizures and death if Donna Aria didn't do her Arcobaleno magic.

He went back to his room, dressed and then stripped the sheets he had previously been sleeping in for the maids to launder, along with the clothing he had worn yesterday. He grimaced as he realized that yes, people had permission to be in his room uninvited and might have stripped the bed anyway after he left the room for any length of time like when he was at school. It felt like a violation of boundaries, because snoopy people existed and so privacy didn't. He did even have basic traps in his room!

Squalo then took a deep breath because this room wasn't his room at the Varia where he had lived for nearly twenty years with all the personalization inherent in that. Fuck, his things were gone, to possibly be collected again some time in the future but what was in this room was also 'his.'

His room here and now didn't have too much he was really attached to in it. There was his clothing, his school books and so on; the typical things every person had, since it looked like Rossella had picked up his school books from where Squalo had ditched them at school and brought them home for him. There were a few things that were common in the mafia but would have been out of place in a normal child's bedroom; a few handguns, some ammo and so that were hidden but still accessible because 'civilian' as his parents were, that didn't mean they were unaware or defenseless, just not informed of specifics and so not worth bothering with except as hostages or as part of a statement of total war between his famiglia and another. Then there were the various real and practice blades and the cello, which were replaceable no matter the sentimental value. So not really a privacy concern as he didn't have anything to hide at the moment but the lack of security was still appalling.

Yes, he could sleep, had demonstrably managed to do so, but he did like having his own personal space where he wasn't to be bothered, not even by well-meaning maids. The Varia and adulthood had spoiled him that way. Maybe he could broker a deal so his room was exclusively his concern, cleaning included?

It would probably have to wait a bit. His parents and Rossella had no reason to give what looked to them like a brat acting out any additional privacy; that would make it look like a reward for bad behavior. Maybe ask in a week or so after his mother was back? She wasn't gone that long this time according to memory.

Even if he might have to do extra cello practice for it -actually, the cello was probably the most valuable and portable object in the room. Yes, the various blades he had did have value, but they were more of a specialty item with a much more limited -mostly for collectors and those interested in the sport or violence of the blade- market than a cello in fine condition. He hadn't touched one since he cut his hand off in preparation for fighting Tyr a few months after he had turned fourteen, but that didn't make him appreciate any less the amount of skill needed to play some pieces of classical music. The Soave were pretty big on music, but it wasn't Squalo's passion. He had liked the cello the most out of all the musical instruments his mother had pushed towards him, so he had kept at it. That while practicing he hadn't been bothered by Otario was also a bonus. One which no longer mattered though, since his brother was dead and been so for years now. Still had been a reason he chose the instrument.

Would he still be able to play the scales? Or the more challenging pieces? That idea was ruined by the growling of his stomach. He would play better without hunger distracting him.

* * *

One meal of leftovers from a lunch that Rossella and one of her assistants hadn't finished washing up after yet, a scolding he ignored in favor of food and a chair blocking his door from opening later, Squalo had his answer to the question of 'could he still play the cello?'

The answer was in theory, yes. He had surprised himself by being able to remember the fingering, the chords and so on for all the scales with little prompting. He wasn't fluent at them, but muscle memory seemed to be an odd thing as he gained that back in short order. Maybe because it was stored in the body as much as in the brain? A few dry runs of which fingers went where before he had even attempted to take the bow to the strings helped him refine vague memory into something more solid. Then he took the bow to it and played a simple scale; accurate enough so yes, he could play but the lack of practice would show to experienced ears, just as clearly as it did to his. Clearer even. Another run through of the scale showed obvious improvement, so it wouldn't be so bad. Music practice was not his favorite thing, more of something he had done to make his mother happy and to get some privacy.

Maybe he could ditch music classes once he had skipped his last year of middle school? He didn't manage that in high school last time and he still had some time before he 'graduated' middle school. A couple of months before it was summer and he could really focus on other things. Being recently twelve sucked and school wouldn't be out until the beginning of June. It was only April after all...

So the question became, sword practice which he enjoyed and needed to do to make sure he had adjusted to his twelve year old body or practice an instrument that he had no intention of truly continuing with.

Who was he trying to fool? He'd choose the sword every time.

* * *

Sunday evening had him getting a reminder about his homework and to get ready for dinner, so Squalo stopped his series of lunges for some cool-down exercises and stretching. Stretching was probably the most important part after some exercise, along with staying hydrated and a quick but hot shower to wash off all the sweat although a bath would be best for soreness. Yes, he'd eat soon enough, but for now preventing cramps and taking steps to reduce soreness were key. He was still growing after all.

The food was fine, his father showed up for the meal and said absolutely nothing useful; just little things that were annoying him at work and generally, which currently included his wife running off to visit a friend. Strange, as Squalo thought his mom usually went off to visit cousins on the Soave side of her family who lived vaguely locally, since her immediate family was over in Canada. Somewhere in his father's tone was a hint of personal offense and injured pride; if Squalo heard him right, his father was implying that his mother was sleeping with someone else. That was...

Squalo wasn't so blind to think his mother was perfect, but that sounded like projecting. It was a subtle sort of implication that Squalo was certain he would normally have missed until post-puberty and the first time around he had carved himself a place in the Varia and been settled for years by then, not visiting his father at all and not really talking to him either. His father was a Rain, if one of a Sunny bent, so that explained the libido; that his father was a pathetic example of a loving husband was his own problem. After all, what sort of 'loving husband' slept around on their wife with multiple people? Their marriage wasn't even arranged, so having a mistress wasn't anywhere close to socially acceptable even among the mafia since he remembered being told his parents getting together had been due to a summer romance; a mistress on the side was far less acceptable for those that were civilian on a technicality. It had happened or would happen before they had divorced, but it was very difficult to not think of his father as anything other than human trash right now.

So dinner was endured, homework he hadn't already finished off was completed and he ditched music practice in favor of humoring his baby sister and then humming to Delfina until she was asleep. He should probably stop using France's national anthem as a lullaby, but one of the Varia mooks had been humming it and he got it stuck in his head prior to having his memories sent to the past.

He could try and get in more sword practice, but he would have to get cleaned up again afterwards and honestly his muscles were tired and parts of him were well-stretched, more so than they'd been when he was first twelve. Different sword styles required more or less work, depending on the blade and the style, but some of them required flexibility and there was no reason not to train in that too. Since he had the time and his body was young enough to take it with relative ease.

So the choice narrowed down to bed or play the cello in the name of practice.

Bed won. Best to try and get his sleeping schedule looking like he was attempting normal sleep patterns.

* * *

Monday saw Squalo sitting through another day of classes, and honestly he had forgotten how boring some of his classes were. Yes, there was some 'new info' in the classes, but mostly to Squalo that meant said information was so utterly pointless that he failed to remember anything about this or that the first time around. Still solid facts and what not, just not important to an assassin or someone that was ruling the Varia. He was completely confident he did not need that information in later life.

Some classes were even worse than that, like the class of draftsmanship, which was pointless if historical; soon people would be doing this on the computer with ease. It was just that the current civilian computer and system was probably 'dumber' than most basic phones that would be developed within the next decade or so. Those classes sometimes had stuff that was nice to know generally and possibly fun for making conversation, but useless for his eventual profession. Fuck, Windows '95 hadn't even come out yet, so Squalo knew he'd fail to be enthused about such classes when they appeared on his schedule.

Draftmanship, computers and so on were not the only classes that were useless to him as he was now, as another language class proved. German wasn't his favorite language, but it had its selling points. The compound words were fun. The class itself was less relevant to his eventual goal as it seemed like the teacher had assigned an entire chapter's worth of homework, plus pages in the workbook. That was the problem when you had the language only twice a week and the teacher wanted to make sure you knew it; hours and hours of work to plod through afterwards.

He blitzed through it in the small break period they had, if only because he didn't want to hear or deal with a teacher complaining that he wasn't paying attention to the lesson. Then there was a short period of 'Civic Studies' which was all historic mafia politics, trade policies like the Vongola's Rules of Business and so on. Basic and not so basic overviews of history and how to look like a boring yet mostly-law-abiding citizen to any government agency that might throw a cursory glance in your direction. Nobody was fully law-abiding so leaving something minor like tax avoidance or traffic fines for them to notice was less suspicious than having a completely clean record.

His last class of the day was history. Local history, but not local mafia history as that was called 'Modern History' since 'Mafia History' would draw far too much suspicion; although most 'mafia history' taught in school was censored propaganda to some degree or another with just enough reality to be plausible, barring a few specific topics. Most of the 'true' history didn't leave the famiglia it pertained to. History had been boring and the homework wasn't as heavy a load as it could have been. So really his homework was reduced to 'not going to bother with' for the draftmanship -utterly useless shit- and history, which he could probably do part of on the ride home, since it was mostly reading in preparation for questions being asked in class next lesson. Civic Studies had some homework, but mostly review stuff for a test on Thursday.

Even with living in a house close by, being picked up and dropped off was part of an image thing; it meant either your parent didn't have to work or could afford the help and expense to have someone else do so. Rossella generally rode passenger, as whoever was driving tended to change up on occasion as a point of reference for the security people -because a private trade school had security obviously. As a precaution. To reassure all those wealthy paranoid parents paying for their babies' education.

He recognized the driver though, so not a big deal even if he'd rather drive himself. Because this whole 'security business' here was terrible; how had someone not taken advantage of the holes here? Even just to snipe a few people? He suppressed a shiver at the thought but hated that he'd have to go through this business for the few months, at least. Then there would be high school, but he had a summer to 'learn how to drive' a moped despite not technically being allowed to until he was fourteen and convince someone that he could take himself to and from school. His father was more likely to agree there than not, which would probably set off another fight or six.

He obviously hadn't thought the whole 'twelve' thing through properly, because all these restrictions based on age and so on were bullshit. So he tossed his books in the backseat, climbed in and started reading. A few pages now were a few less later, before he would have to write the stupid paper.

The trip took minutes, as expected, as most of the time was spent leaving the academy grounds as people ahead of them turned onto the road as the other kids walked across the drive with absolutely zero regard for traffic. Then once 'home' they were let in through the gate and went up a bit in the drive towards the front door.

The blue '69 corvette with white racing stripes in the drive was far less expected. He knew that corvette.

What had prompted his grandpa to visit?

And why was his father's vehicle still here? Shouldn't he be at work?


	4. Chapter 4

Ripples in the Sea of Time: Shark Tales by InsaneScriptist

Beta'd by the organized Umei no Mai

Summary: Choices have consequences. Going to the past to destroy the future? Ambitious. Starting at twelve or so? Not impossible but unlikely. Good thing that Squalo's audacious enough for it.

* * *

The driver pulled up behind his father's vehicle, blocking that car in the driveway; it would probably get moved later, once his grandpa had left, since there was no reason to block him in and have to move things around again. Most of the guards that worked here and for the various neighbors carpooled together on a rotating basis if they actually owned a car, traveling to and from one of the apartment buildings that were mostly clustered a little over a kilometer to the west of the school where most of the guards and other staff like cleaners and gardeners and so on actually lived.

But what had prompted his grandpa to visit? This hadn't happened before. Delfina's birthday was the 25th and so was next week Sunday; it was '93, so she'd be all of two. His grandpa being here today didn't make much sense to Squalo, but there wasn't much he could do about it other than find out what prompted a random visit and how that tied in to his father being back early or taking the day off. His father was something of a workaholic and when he wasn't working he was using work as an excuse to sleep around. Him being home on any day that wasn't a Sunday was unusual, even though he technically did not need to go into work on Saturdays.

It made no sense, as his grandpa wasn't one for random visits; he had his own business as a luxury importer to manage, even if he was mostly retired from that these days. Which yes, likely did involve quite a bit of smuggling and tax evasion on the side but that wasn't surprising. The Superbi were from pirate stock, so that was practically Traditional.

Leaving the mystery for later, Squalo grabbed his books off the car seat, determinedly shoved it out of his mind and headed upstairs towards his room; he could ask later. He placed the history text on his desk, along with the civic studies notebook and the German homework too: he had blitzed through it, so it'd be best to check that he hadn't forgotten a workbook page or wrote stuff on the wrong line. Getting a failing mark because of what amounted to a paperwork error would be embarrassing. Also to make sure he hadn't meandered into some other language halfway through. The Varia didn't care about that but the teachers would bitch about the extra work involved in having to mark it, if they didn't just give it a failing mark on principle for not being what they'd asked for. Squalo knew they did that from experience; it had happened a lot his first time in high school.

He really would have to see about if he could test out of the language classes in high school; it would save him so much time, effort and frustration. Because he'd rather avoid failing a test because he accidentally wrote it in a different language, much less four of them and half of that in code he had no reason to know at all.

He'd rather not deal with the fallout of _that_ , thank you.

He had checked through three pages of German homework by the time one of the younger maids told him that he was wanted downstairs, so Squalo abandoned his books, tromped down a floor and around towards the small home office his father had. His mother had the official and more impressive one upstairs, because she could actually work properly from home even without Internet. A benefit of working real estate compared to... to. Shit, he had forgotten what his father did at work, Director of something or another that involved a lot of people, scheduling and so on. Director of Human Resources, that was it; for some company in Palermo, so adjusting schedules, hiring temps and the like without physically being there would be impossible until the Internet and computer networks really took off...

Opening the door he saw both his father and grandpa were in the tiny office, as expected. It looked just a little bit surreal and that was because of his grandpa. Squalo could see the similarities in their faces, coloring and all but his grandpa looked like he could pass for his father's brother. Older brother because of the slightly deeper fine wrinkles around his eyes and mouth but also the prettier brother, since his father's hair was thinning and his grandpa had his full and still-brown hair pulled into a low tail. Plus general disposition helped, since his grandpa held himself more casually so looked more approachable.

Squalo's father looked disgruntled, but he always did whenever he had to spend any time with his own father. He said nothing though. Great. No help there.

"You're here, good. Squalo you're with me until after dinner." His grandpa informed him, the words crisp and sharp; like it was an _order_.

What? "I have homework," he gave as an excuse. It was a feeble excuse and they all knew it.

"You'll have time to do it later, I promise. Go grab your sword. I'll be outside."

And now Squalo was confused -he was being _encouraged_ to carry weapons around outside of training?- but why not? This was certainly new for him. At least it would be interesting.

* * *

The engine of the '69 corvette was loud and powerful. The sort of sound that said the classic car had been lovingly taken care of from the day it was first acquired. There was something the Americans did to give it such a sound, but fuck if Squalo remembered what it was that caused that. Maybe something to do with horsepower, which fucked over the fuel mileage too -something about American gallons being smaller too, so less fuel per gallon screwed with the distance estimates that were from rigged and mocked-up tests anyway. Cars were not his specialty; the only reason Squalo knew the names and looks of most of the classic models was because his grandpa collected them.

Squalo was pretty sure his grandpa had bought the corvette new way back when and drove it mostly to flaunt the fact he had it and annoy everyone from sheer envy. How had it not been stolen? Probably because it was too distinctive.

Damn, it was gorgeous piece of machinery and engineering all around. Squalo just enjoyed the ride. It would be a joy to be allowed to drive it. More fun to race it. He had to grow up some before then or else he couldn't reach the pedals without some serious adjustments to the seats.

The residential build up on the outskirts of the Castellammare del Golfo area came up far too soon and with it the end of the ride, as his grandpa turned off to another smaller road. A leisurely ten or so minutes and several turns later had them pulling into the open doors of the garage where there were more sports cars, locally made or not, all sitting pretty in full view of the road. Part of his mind was screaming about the possibility of drive-bys, how sturdy the garage was and what could it stand up to so as to protect all the expensive vehicles inside it.

A rather blatant show of wealth, he noted, but the suburbs of Calatafimi-Segesta around mafia school were all upper-middle class and didn't have the room to sprawl and show off massive amounts of wealth. It made it easy to forget how loaded his relatives were. One of these cars was probably worth more than some people earned in their entire life. Especially to a collector.

Not that the value of the vehicles prevented his grandparents from keeping a hand in doing things, as his grandma was proving, since she seemed to be taking some parts out of a fiat. Oh, radiator hose replacement, he realized after a moment. He was rather sure that his grandpa didn't own that one though. The body color on that fiat was an obnoxious yellow, so was probably for a client or relative who was avoiding going to a proper mechanic shop either for legal reasons or because grandma would do a better job anyway. His grandma did this as a hobby and she was good at it.

Squalo followed his grandpa for lack of any instructions, so was treated to the disgusting display of affection between his paternal grandparents as his grandpa handed the keys over.

The keys disappeared into one of his grandma's pockets and then he had to deal with his grandma cornering him and fussing. "Well, haven't you turned out pretty, Squalo. Ah, growing up so fast, soon you'll be driving. You better let Nonna Anna teach you how, so many people can't drive nowadays." Squalo nodded, because he didn't see any reason not to. Also because he had a wrench pointed at his face and waving inches from his nose.

"Darling-Anna, if you do that, the boy will have speeding tickets before he gets his license." His grandpa teased. "Didn't you just get one last week?"

His grandma very maturely stomped on her husband's foot and changed the subject. "See, I knew that marrying you all those years ago would result in pretty grandchildren, Delfino."

"And here I thought it was because I was prettier than you were back when we were teens." Delfino practically drawled, face far too amused to be deadpan. "And that I could speak German which let you be the shy friend, so we could blow things up on the mainland together without being suspected."

Squalo found that tidbit interesting as there were all sorts of 'mafia against the oppressive fascist regime' stories floating about in the wider Vongola if you paid attention. Most of the people featuring in those stories were in Nono's generation or older, which his grandpa did count as no matter how young he looked. Squalo called bullshit on said looks being entirely natural because his grandpa was around Nono Vongola's age and looked younger; he really did look young enough to plausibly be Squalo's uncle or even his father. His grandma also looked nearly as young in that sort of timeless classic way, but her hair was at least dyed blonde which might be to hide grey hair rather than just for fashion's sake. But really, he was bored and was about to go wander off in search of food since he was hungry. He was almost a teenager after all and he had a lot of height to grow yet. He was so much shorter!

He currently didn't care enough about old history to delay lunch for it.

"Meet you in half an hour for lunch, Squalo and I have a bit to discuss first."

Oh, so he _was_ going to find out why he'd been brought out here. Fucking finally.

* * *

The garage had a basement firing range that they walked past the entrance to; the sheen to the 'observing windows' said they were bulletproof glass. The range looked like it went fairly deep; some several hundred meters at least. They walked down a hall that headed towards the house. Squalo knew that somewhere under the house was a gym and there was an armory too -the majority of the firearms had to be be kept somewhere- but there were more than just guns in there and that most of the 'historical' pieces were in full working order. Squalo followed his grandpa into what looked like a cleaning supply closet and was that and more, being rather large. There were buckets, cleaning solutions, mops and spare lighting, extra targets for the firing range and even ammo. Spare 'glass' took up most of the back wall. Nothing was at all out of the ordinary and everything was demonstrating a proper attitude to preparedness.

Except it also had an illusion in the corner that Delfino had just walked through. Said corner wasn't bare either; there was one of those lists of do's and don'ts -mostly involving the cleaning chemicals- that had been extensively scribbled on and looked ancient.

Squalo followed through the illusion and ended up on a staircase made of concrete that seemed to tunnel deeper down into the bedrock. The air was mustier here, the lights had to be flicked on individually and they came on grudgingly and dimly. _Creepy_. Clearly this place didn't get used all that often.

A few flights of stairs later his grandpa led on through one of the doors on one of the landings and into a hall. Squalo wasn't sure how much deeper the stairs went, but it was probably 'enough' that jumping down through the central well the concrete steps spiraled around would be a bad idea. What was all this space even used for? The chosen door led to another hallway, which was also musty if somewhat better lit. The fluorescent bulbs were larger and brighter but one bulb was flickering off and on. That was irksome.

Squalo followed his grandpa into one of the rooms in the hall and immediately realized exactly what this room was -it was a room for Flame Training. The stale Flame-traces and scorch marks that had been painted over told their own story. This would explain maybe half of the space if a lot of the rooms were made for that.

"So why am I down here?" Squalo growled out; ugh, he sounded like a pipsqueak. Then again, twelve, so he was a loud pipsqueak.

"You are down here because leaving someone with Active Flames untrained in school is irresponsible, especially if they've already demonstrated hostile intent towards others and don't connect well or at all with their peers."

Flames… shit, he had originally received all his formal Flame-training at the Varia after killing Tyr. Going back in time meant that… that meant training his Flames were under the purview of his famiglia and family. The mafia academies pointedly did not teach them, although they had some leeway built into the system for various Flames and so on. Being known as a Rain meant his teachers hadn't exactly been worried about him prior to that and it wasn't like Rain Flames were that dangerous to any teen experimenting with them -not a high enough chance of death, crippling or severe injury to require an immediate teacher to prevent someone from committing suicide in new and interesting ways by trying out an idea.

"Flames?" He asked to buy time. How was he to play this off? Most people had shit for Flame-senses, so they tended to go off patterns of behavior to identify them until they saw said Flames in use; it wasn't like he hid the fact he was a Rain the first go-round, which meant the teachers did harp onto him for no acting as a Rain normally did. "What do you mean Active Flames?" Body language defensive, ready to attack, still curious though. Maybe they thought wrong? Most people's behavior was not due to innate personality but a result of their environment. He was rather aggressive for a Rain, so maybe they were thinking something else like Storm or Cloud. He had enough relatives that were Storms or Clouds to justify that sort of thinking.

"I could lecture a whole day on the subject and half of it would be wrong if I followed the Vongola script. At the moment Flames are the reason you're never going to live a civilian lifestyle because people will notice them and you'll be targeted if you don't know how to defend yourself."

"I've got a sword, and I know how to shoot." Squalo refuted the accusation of weakness. "Not defenseless." Not weak. A Cloud's approach to things would be easier to pull off long-term, which the next few years would make it so. Plus more leeway; people let Clouds do what they wanted more often than not.

"That's fair enough, until bullets dissolve before they hit. When you walk into a trap and can't move, when someone moves faster than you can react and hits hard enough to break concrete walls. When your brain lies to you because someone else has tricked it and you walk straight into someone's line of fire." His grandpa responded. Nice speech, Squalo was appropriating it for use later.

"So.. Flames do that." Squalo narrowed his eyes as he continued to feign ignorance. What was a good Cloud response that was in-character... "Sounds like a challenge."

"There're limits and techniques and practice that's required for such techniques to be useful rather than just wasteful or pointless, but first we have to know which type you have. There's tests for this, mostly to determine aptitude to see if it's possible for people to use them. Mental discipline is key to first managing to bring them out, but you've already lit them once. It's easier the second time and gets easier so long as you practice and remember your resolve."

"Uh-huh." Squalo nodded, already bored. "Get to the point."

"So impatient. Normally your parents would do this or a tutor would, but as my oldest son failed to find the mental discipline required for Flames when he was younger it was decided to keep him as civilian as possible, so Baleno can't. So upon discovering you were Active the school contacted me, as the head of this branch of the Superbi."

Made sense for the school; not that this branch of the Superbi was that large. It was just Squalo's immediate first-degree cousins and his father's siblings who were all named after aquatic life. Hazard of being the newest branch. At least they hadn't had to go species specific yet and likely wouldn't for ages yet.

"So the plan of action is to try and create one type of Flame you have before lunch and then after eating we can practice with them until dinner; then I drop you off home after. You've got a couple of teachers convinced that you're a Cloud so we'll start off with that."

A Cloud? They really thought he was a _Cloud_? Then again, he fit a lot of the 'classical' signs so it wouldn't be much of a hard sell. They'd thought Delfina was a Cloud too; maybe somebody on his mother's side was and that was shaping their expectations, since his father was a Rain. Unless his mother was a Cloud, but well, _civilian_ ; sensing Latent Flames was a lot harder than some people made it look, especially if the Latent's reserves weren't that great. It didn't matter though; what mattered was that he might be able to fool people into thinking he wasn't a Rain and thereby save himself a load of hassle over 'not behaving properly.' Fuck, that had been so annoying. All 'use proper language' and 'adjust your attitude' and 'be more respectful.'  


After all a lot of people had shit for Flame-senses. He could fool them about his Flame type there. A few Mist-tricks might even help, but he'd have to play that part by ear.

* * *

There were a few ways to get used to calling on Flames that Squalo knew of; conductors that would help until the person learned the level of focus and resolve needed to go without, specialized drugs and bullets, going through numerous life or death situations or plain old meditation. Those were pretty much the only ways unless you had a trusted Mist about and they knew how others used their Flames to short-cut the teaching part, if not the practice part. His grandpa wasn't a Mist though. Delfino was a Rain, the faint gnawing sensation in the depths of his aura like a deep-sea current to his Flames was telling of trained Storm Flames. His grandma on the other hand was a Sun and if she had a viable secondary Flame, Squalo wasn't sure what it was.

Delfino wasn't fond of jewelry since he wasn't wearing anything except his wedding band, he had specified a limited time frame and the bullets and drugs were Vongola secrets. Delfino wasn't young enough to chase a half-grown grandchild around and wasn't obviously armed, so that left -in theory- meditation.

Except not, because Squalo ended up listening to his grandpa verbally walk him into a trance-like state. Not that Squalo was at all peaceful during it, but he was open to suggestion and yeah, this one was a new one to him although it did seem similar to the Mist-option. Also disturbing in different ways and Squalo broke the flow of it no less than three times just to make sure he could before finally letting his grandpa get to what seemed to be the Cloud-specific part. He was pretty sure they were already late for lunch.

"You have the focus, you have the will and with it you'll enforce what order you wish. Your will is to enforce order, the focus is on what is claimed as yours. What you will protect and maintain with your will till the end of your days. Place that will, focus your resolve into the hands you'll do this with."

His grandpa was doing _something_ with his voice, Squalo knew that, but he let himself be swept under the spell. The Vongola Ring had rejected Boss, so not Boss as Decimo, but the next best thing. Boss as head of the Varia, the Vongola headed by someone that wasn't Sawada's brat and the Family stronger for it. Delfina happy and healthy and laughing, no longer imposing distance between herself and the world. That's what he wanted; plain and simple and he would make it happen. He had the ability to see it done and he _would_.

And then he realized he had summoned actual Cloud Flames in his hand.

The _fuck_? His secondary was Mist! He was a Rain first and foremost! His irritation spiked and the Cloud Flames flared and then lost cohesion as he lost focus. So out went the Cloud Flames. The fuck, kept repeating as a litany somewhere in the back of his head. Fucking Cloud Flames. He hadn't been able to summon and use Cloud Flames before he had come to the past and-

"Ah, you lost it. It's alright, we need to go up and eat lunch. Otherwise we're going to be late and I prefer my food warm."

"What the hell were you doing with your voice?" Squalo demanded first. That was something that the Varia hadn't come up with! And due to the Varia innovating and keeping records of how and so on had a vast library of techniques! Rain Flame being used for fucking hypnosis was entirely new to him!

"I did say that the Vongola's script was half-wrong didn't I? The Vongola says Rains like myself are peacekeepers, diplomats and so on, due to the property of the Rain Flame being _Tranquility._ " The emphasis on 'Tranquility' made it sound like a curse and as something disgusting that you didn't even want to touch with a ten-foot pole. Squalo could understand that part; Rain Flames could do a hell of a lot more than keeping things 'peaceful.'

"Isn't Tranquil a synonym for peaceful?" Squalo snarked back. "Handy for those terse meetings and keeping people from killing each other?"

"Yes, but Tranquility is the wrong word for everything Rain Flames are capable of. The word you're looking for is _Compliance,_ the bending of the environment, its objects and others to your will. Once that happens, don't you agree that things are peaceful?" His grandpa asked, clearly getting the last word in as he walked out of the room.

Ah shit, Compliance really did explain a lot more about Rain Flames as a characteristic and ability of said Flame than fucking Tranquility did. It truly _did._ The ability to hinder weapons coming towards you in the air, the defensive properties that Rain Flames could hold and how they worked to enforce 'Tranquility.'

So _decades_ of Rain-lore built on a misunderstanding as fundamental as what Rain Flames _did_.

He took a moment to process the sheer _magnitude_ of such a misunderstanding within the mafia that knew of Flames and that misunderstanding being standardized as fact in the mafia for _generations._ Then the moment was over and he left for lunch. He had to eat if he didn't want to stay a pipsqueak forever.

"VOI! Don't run off!"


	5. Chapter 5

Ripples in the Sea of Time: Shark Tales by InsaneScriptist

Beta'd by the organized Umei no Mai

Summary: Choices have consequences. Going to the past to destroy the future? Ambitious. Starting at twelve or so? Not impossible but unlikely. Good thing that Squalo's audacious enough for it

* * *

Lunch was good, even if his grandparents were busy being disgustingly sappy and flirty with each other. It was subtle enough, but sheesh, he would have liked to have been blind and deaf for the duration of lunch. It was just embarrassing.

All the flirting, the teasing, the in-jokes… it was everything his parent's marriage was not. Maybe at one point it had been, but that was gone for some years even before his older brother got shot up in someone's fucked up hit.

Still Cloud Flames… clearly the potential had been there. Flames were something the body either had or didn't. Training taught you to be more efficient with what you had, but it didn't increase the amount you had or the potency. It's just he remembered not being able to use them and now he could. How was that happening?

"Care to share, Squalo?" His Nonna asked.

"Just thinking," he deflected. "So which Flame does what grandpa? And how? You've mentioned Cloud and Rain." And what questions to ask next? Because trying to pretend to be ignorant of Flame Lore was now a magnitude harder than previously thought. No matter how humbled he was by finding out that he and the rest of the mafia didn't know some basic shit about Rain Flames. Like the fact that their property was fucking _Compliance_ instead of damned Tranquility.

"Flames are something the Superbi have known about and been using since before Giotto founded the Vongola. Admittedly, the Vongola expanded our understanding in some ways, but in others... it's just gotten messy. The table's not really the place to explain all the details."

Secrecy concerns? Joy.

So back downstairs they went, except they stopped a level before the Flame training rooms. Down another hall and into what appeared to be a classroom as the lights flickered on at his grandpa's fingers. There were a couple of long tables and a blackboard complete with chalk. Clearly not a lot of use, judging by the feel of the room but the lights at least all worked. Maybe a couple of years since it last saw regular use.

His grandpa grabbed a piece of chalk and listed the Flame types in a column and the color they were next to them. So maybe it was lack of visual aides or whatever instead of secrecy?

"Rainbow colored Flames? And what's with the weather names?" Easy questions, but expected ones. No matter how stupid it seemed to have the mafia dealing with rainbow fire. At least most people didn't know about the fights over jewelry. Wait, he meant inheritance there.

"Most people only have one type they can use worth a damn. Prior to joining the Vongola, the Superbi that could use them went color and effect. After Giotto established the Vongola, his Guardians armed with the Vongola Rings were seen as something as powerful and unstoppable as the weather. So the Vongola by the fact they were making it obvious they could use Flames established roles and set standard terms for those in the eventual Vongola Alliance and abroad as criminal organizations spread and started doing business with each other. So we adopted the terms too, in the interest of business and mutual understanding. Plus being a Storm sounded more impressive than being a Red, even if you weren't a ship-sinker."

"So how do Flames happen? Beyond wanting to use them?"

"That's a bit more difficult and everyone's got their pet theories. The Vongola line is that it is willpower. Not some puny amount either, but 'as if you were dying,' willpower. Hence why the current accepted proper term is Dying Will Flames. Most just use Flames, but some use some odd terms as well. Which are stupid and impractical, so I'll tell you more of why, some other day."

His grandpa has another disgusted face as he turns back to the board and adds what looks to be a diagram. It's one of those heavily simplified ones that Squalo's seen before -in the future before as the sort of simple teaching aids. The person plus will equals Flames one. There's more complicated versions of that involving Rings and Box Weapons but yeah, simple shit for newbies hasn't changed.

"Most people need an amplifier to do more than little tricks with Flames and most of those amplifiers are jewelry if they're not built into weapons. What people forget or don't know is that your willpower can be drained due to exhaustion, they can have an impaired ability to concentrate and people are still able to use Flames. What they lack in understanding is that emotions are a focus for Flames in their own right. It just takes the right one."

"You say that as if different emotions cause different Flames?" Because Squalo knew they did not. Otherwise everyone that could use Flames would be a constant light display.

"Not unless you have multiple Flames that are strong enough to manifest. In which case a differing emotional component helps in learning how to use each individual Flame well enough so with practice you don't have to rely on emotional control to use a particular Flame over the other. Basically certain emotions are more effective than others at focusing praticual Flames but that doesn't mean that a different emotion can't work for that Flame. Anger works well for most of them, but not all of them."

"So which emotion goes to what?" Squalo asked.

His grandpa ignored him and scribbled more on the board.

"Emotions being personal, there are individual nuances. But get enough Suns and Rains and so on together and it's easy to find what motivates them. Especially if you strip away culture and the other factors. So emotional focuses in a nutsell."

Squalo quietly memorized what his grandpa wrote down -it was a pretty simple table. As if that didn't explain why he couldn't use Cloud Flames in the past-future. The wrong sort of resolve. That was a basic sort of mistake. So basic he hadn't even thought that was the issue. He had just assumed he couldn't. "So the Vongola doesn't know this? But this seems basic."

"It is basic. So basic that people miss it and those that don't forget to teach it. Or assume the students have learned it anyway since how else could they call on their Flames except like this."

So, human nature was at work, more or less. Men doomed to forget and so on. "So why don't the Vongola know and teach this?"

"Teaching about Flames and how to use them at an individual level is the responsibility of the familigia, who assign a relative or tutor and generally do not have a set curriculum. Most learn how to use them, but not what they are or how to use them outside of a certain range of tricks and skills. Flames at a research level in the Vongola Famiglia itself…" His grandpa did the same thing that Squalo knows he does when he's dredging up information and rearranging it in his head for a verbal report.

No wonder Luss said it was odd. Self-hypnosis and compartmentalization made the face go blank and lax but there was obviously someone there thinking and focusing inside their head. It made Squalo wonder what his grandpa had really done decades ago in the second world war.

"Terzo Vongola researched Flames before and after his induction as Vongola Don. Lots of people who could at the time, were. It was quite fashionable in its own way so there were many risk-takers trying to innovate and discover and writing it all down. Which included Quarto Vongola before he was Quarto and so lost all his Guardians to see if a certain Flame Condition could be activated in all Flame types instead of just Skies. Quarto Vongola's instatement puts Flame Research very low down on the Vongola's list of priorities, until Sesto Vongola starts seriously funding his son's -the one that became Vongola Settimo- his research into Flame-based weaponry. Settimo's personal research brings in new fields of study and greater understanding of how Flames work and little refinement to the Vongola's definition of what they are. Vongola Ottava has focused more on medical uses during and after the war, with additional emphasis on the covert usages through the establishment of the Varia for all that the Varia is not part of R&D. Timoteo's not nearly as practically minded, so while he's no doubt continued to fund the research, he hasn't directed it to specific areas for profit or any other purpose. His father being part-Tegliori isn't a lie, but it's not nearly as distant as the paperwork claims."

"Huh?"

"Only a Tegliori can have their head that far up their ass and still say that everything's fine and smelling sweet. Some aren't so bad, Ottava's first Rain wasn't, but Timoteo's mother being Vongola doesn't make him exempt from that particular family failing."

"What." Squalo asked flatly. He just felt a metric ton of subtext ruffle his hair in passing. Important subtext. Historical and current subtext.

"A long time ago, Timo and I were friends. We grew apart." Delfino not-explained at all. "Now that's enough of lectures. We're going to see what other Flames you can use and showing you a few training exercises and setting up something of a schedule."

Squalo nodded, not seeing any other choice. And well, learning new things was generally good. "So why see all of them now? Wouldn't it make more sense to get used to one Flame and then move on to the rest?"

"You'd think so, but each Flame behaves differently and trying to get some to work together is impossible. Storm and Mist Flames are completely cross-purpose, but you can add Sun to Cloud and the Cloud Flames lose cohesion. So getting used to using say Storm Flames and then learning to use Mist Flames would mean you have all the wrong experience and training. For all the fancy tricks Flames can do, they're still used mostly as weapons and trying to use a mace like it was a knife isn't going to cut it."

* * *

Apparently the only Flame he found he was completely incapable of manifesting is Lightning. Which was not a disappointment, since he can use all the others bar Sky obviously. Since it was known that Sky's a composite Flame and all that, which Squalo knew enough about the science there to know that bit of lore was solid.

His Storm Flames were tricky to manifeste but without something to amplify them the best he can do with them involves never needing an office shredder for paperwork. Which does mean he's actually allowed to use them without supervision since it's unlikely he'll maim himself or burn a house down by accident. Still got told to not use them around anything flammable or unstable. Basic 'if you're not allowed to smoke around it, don't use Storm Flames. And don't use Flames period unless you've learned to control the heat output since ignition points are a thing' safety shit.  


His Sun Flames were probably a touch under his Cloud in terms of reserves but it's tricky to self-determine that. He has a bit more of an idea of how to use them if only due to extensive time around Luss, assassins doing dumb things requiring a stay in Medical and landing in Medical himself a few times. He hadn't previously managed to make them manifest properly -his previous issue being a matter of focus and resolve _again_ \- but he had always healed pretty fast. Probably the reason why for that and how he could go on so little sleep and remain high functioning.

Cloud Flames were something new to him entirely, but it wasn't like he was totally ignorant on how those worked. They were going to be fun to practice with, more so if he had minions and mooks to terrorize. As minions and mooks and Varia were currently years away… he had time to learn and practice some very interesting ideas he'd seen other Clouds play with. More importantly, he knew what _not_ to do.

Mist Flames remained his secondary. He knew the extent of his talent there and it wasn't lack of Flames hindering him there; it was all due to mindset. He didn't think like a Mist, couldn't really cast an illusion on someone and escape notice but he wasn't without his tricks. Also he should probably see about finding a way to Mist-Bind some knives to his person because he couldn't always Conjure them. His grandpa didn't explain the various 'schools' that Mists used to classify their techniques and tricks but that was partly traditional. Let the Mist find what they were naturally attuned to and all that because with Mists it was confidence that was key to success. Call it faith or whatever but a Mist insecure in their skills was a useless or dead Mist.

Rain remained his primary Flame -not that he announced it as such- and were as easy to use as he remembered. Almost felt like an ocean was welcoming him home, to use them again and so openly. He had to restrain himself from falling into a pattern of thrusts and parries and sweeps that made up the sword style he used after beating Tyr. Instead he took his time and played with his Rain Flames, to see how his new resolve changed things. If it meant he could use Cloud Flames now, then he wanted to know how much of a change this caused.

He noticed the door to the Flame training room open and close, but he ignored his grandma entering to focus on what he wanted to find out.

The answer was not much. There wasn't a new crispness to the Flame, but there was a feeling that they were a bit more malleable even if he couldn't pinpoint how or why. Rain Flames followed a lot of the properties of water at a certain concentration, so that was a starting point. Not more viscous like syrup. They felt denser. Side-effect of Cloud Flames?

Doubted that, he wasn't using Cloud Flames.

Depth of resolve or depth of emotions? Slight change in emotional focus?

Probably an unanswerable question.

"Looks like you're not needed much, husband of mine."

"Clearly doesn't take after our son here."

"Very talented," his Nonna praised at just the right pitch to carry across the large room.

Which was practically giving Squalo his cue to 'get startled' and imitate Dino trying to walk for half a second. Because any longer than that and Squalo would end up face-planting into the floor. Fuck, he had forgotten that this body wasn't used to using Flames. He barely remembered getting started the first time but he had been older then, anemic due to blood loss and struggling to figure out the Varia's paperwork. Also about two years older. And never for such a long period at first because that was like running a marathon without training for it. He was probably going to fall asleep on the ride back in the way he remembers some Suns doing as soon as they've stopped doing something as exhaustion and fatigue hit all at once. Momentum and all that.

But stopping now wasn't really in-character. Not when he wanted people outside of his relatives to focus on Cloud instead of Rain, with all the stupid expectations people put on Rains to be nice, kind and polite.

"Voi, grandpa, how'd you do that voice thing?"


	6. Chapter 6

Ripples in the Sea of Time: Shark Tales by InsaneScriptist

Beta'd by the muse-borrowing Umei no Mai

Summary: Choices have consequences. Going to the past to destroy the future? Ambitious. Starting at twelve or so? Not impossible but unlikely. Good thing that Squalo's audacious enough for it.

* * *

He did manage to get his grandpa to tell him the specifics of that voice-trick he had pulled with Rain Flames; sure, Squalo was reasonably sure he had the theory worked out already but there could easily be some nuance or part he was missing, which would render the trick impossible to pull off otherwise. That was how the ice techniques created by Primo's Rain Guardian ended up lost after Quarto's Rain died while experimenting with Flames. But it was, as his Grandpa had said it was, all in the particular property of Rain Flames that the Vongola had missed for generations. Compliance, not Tranquility.

Beyond that what was necessary was to focus Rain Flames in the sound; not the throat or vocal cords but the sound. Which meant the voice-trick's range was limited to its ability to be heard. So those deaf or wearing hearing protection or even headphones wouldn't be effected. Also loud noises or music could probably make it less effective. Or at least that seemed like the obvious weakness to the trick.

Not that Squalo had been able to test it yet, since he all but passed out on the ride back. Flame-exhaustion pretty much killed any energy he might have stirred up for the homework he was supposed to do, or at least the parts of homework he cared to do. Clouds could get away with a lot of stuff that other people couldn't and if he was thought of as a Cloud, he was going to use it. Draftsmanship was such a pointless class.

On Tuesday Squalo decided to start as he intended to go on at school, so didn't bother with the uniform trousers and put on a pair of charcoal grey jeans with his school shirt and threw a black fake leather jacket –not Squalo's technically but it wasn't like Otario had any use for it anymore– on over the top; he was playing the Cloud, he'd get away with it. The jeans were more restricting than he was really happy with, but he didn't have any slacks that weren't the horrible uniform. He wasn't too fond of his school shoes either, but he refused to wear trainers and he didn't own any boots. Yet. Buying himself some decent black or grey slacks and a pair of boots were the first things on his list. When he had money. Which was unlikely to be any time soon.

Being twelve was really annoying. So dependent on everyone else for everything that mattered. Squalo was certain he had an allowance -even if it was one put in trust for him from the Superbi funds and Grandpa- but he didn't remember ever really having the money on hand. If he remembered right, most of his expenses at the moment were school things and sword-stuff that had to be special ordered anyway. Which only left the whole 'getting the physical money' out of the bank despite being twelve and not knowing a damn bit of the account information part, because his parents had never bothered to tell him how.

Rossella sniffed at his outfit rather than ordering him to change, which implied she'd been told something –probably that this was an Omertà thing and that she was to leave it to Grandpa– and reminded him that the school would probably punish him for violating uniform standards. Which he knew, thanks; punishment would be a lecture he could ignore, a letter home and possibly being held late for detention on a second or third occasion. Considering the school had definitely been told he was a Cloud, they'd probably give up on punishing him after a week of him ignoring the dress code. He might get banned from school trips for the rest of the year, but Squalo honestly didn't give a shit about those anyway. He remembered disliking them.

Of course the first people to notice his deliberate flaunting of the school rules were his classmates.

"You are going to be in so much trouble," one of the girls pointed out, her tone full of morbid fascination.

Squalo shrugged. "Those trousers are a crime against fashion," he said bluntly; he'd promised himself he was going to start making connections, and even if he got sent up into High School at the end of the year he could still do with the practice and to normalise the behaviour, so nobody thought it was weird he was talking to people a bit. He was recently Active, so he could get away with changing quite a few things now and have it put down to that. Later changes would get attributed to puberty, but a bit of groundwork never hurt anybody.

"The school will call your parents, you know," another boy pointed out. Squalo should probably know that guy's name –they were desk-mates– but he couldn't remember. He'd listen for it when the teacher called the register this morning. See if he could put any names he knew to faces that were twenty or so years younger.

"Parents aren't home," Squalo retorted, folding his arms and looking away to indicate the conversation was over; the flurry of murmurs and enlightened noises made it clear that the rest of his class had just decided that they'd divined his motives –be rebellious while the school couldn't get hold of his parents– and were now gleefully speculating about the potential consequences.

Whatever. He could tolerate it so long as they didn't expect him to participate.

Being twelve again sucked, no matter the reasons he had for choosing it.

* * *

Day One of The School Uniform Rebellion had a few teachers annoyed; about half didn't care that Squalo was violating the school uniform code and so Squalo took note of them. The other half noticed, asked if Something Had Been Done and of course there was that one tattletale telling the teacher that Squalo's parents weren't home as well. So pretty much a slap on the wrist with the 'wear proper school attire' lecture.

Honestly, they cared more about the fact he was sleeping in class compared to what he was wearing to it. Which was not very conductive to learning his class-mates' names but if he was twelve (and thirty-three) he was going to indulge in pettiness like someone who was twelve. He did get detention for sleeping in class, which fair enough since Literature was that boring. Detention was time enough to do the homework he cared to do. If his Grandpa picked him up from home or the school to go train, he'd at least have it done more or less beforehand.

His Grandpa hadn't picked him up so he spent some time with Delfina and practicing both the sword and music. He was so ditching the latter as soon as he could, but in the meantime he might as well keep up with it a little. So he'd have to make sure the school switched him to a different track once he was sent up a year. And find a way to ditch the foreign language classes since massive amounts of homework for things he already knew inside out was far from appealing.

Most of the night was spent trying to assemble some sort of Mist-security for his bedroom since the Rain-traps and other things he guarded his room with at the Varia were not something safe to use in a house with civilians and a toddler running around. Mists could be selective about shit like that but he just gained a headache from trying. He was so useless as a Mist outside small tricks that it was embarrassing.

Day Two of The School Uniform Rebellion had more annoyed teachers -different day meant different teachers- and apparently black jeans and faux leather jackets offended one's very soul and she threw a rather childish fit over it. Not enough to march him to the school's office or off to go change into whatever spare uniform the school might have around in case of accidents or whatever but enough to promise him a trip to the Headmistress' office if he did it again.

Not that he was sure she'd carry through with that once she was brought into the loop of 'Cloud in your Classroom, how to deal responsibly and cope.'

Because he knew when he next had her class and he could plan for whatever he decided to do that day. If he remembered but did he want to deal with the lack of professionalism or further prod her reactions? He did get detention for the rest of the week for 'disrespect.' Which he used to do his homework in and sleep. Which was good since he went to Grandpa's afterwards and trained for about three hours. Mostly with Cloud Flames and how they worked with his blade and twelve year old body. That was interesting. Grandpa said next time they would be working with his Sun Flames, so there was that to look forward to.

Day Three otherwise known as Thursday saw more sleeping in class -faux leather jackets make for a reasonable pillow- than any sort of hysteria over his lack of uniform adherence. Or it could be he'd got the more mellow and experienced teachers today. He should probably learn their names too; he had the rest of the school year to suffer through. He did finally manage to remember half of his classmate's names, with more prompting from the class register than he'd like to admit and eavesdropping for other information. Connections were important and all that.

Day Four had him sent to the office to wait on the Headmistress' displeasure for the utter bullshit that was the school uniform. Because of course that was what would happen eventually.

The Headmistress was a relative of some degree, not that it meant she'd take it easy on him. Volverina 'Ossifraga' Superbi was named after wildlife in the traditional Superbi fashion but naming a Cloud 'Wolverine' was just ridiculous.

The secretary who gate-kept the Headmistress' office was on the phone, something about a meeting to discuss someone's grades on some project or class. The interesting person in the room was the person who was ignoring the uniform dress-code entirely, since those boots weren't uniform, neither was the black ruffle skirt or the dark polo shirt either. Much less the netted longer-sleeved undershirt. Between the make-up and accessories, that was punk. Punk was the term used, right?

"Miss Deodato, here for flagrant uniform violations again I see." His literature teacher all but hissed as she nudged him further into the office.

"But I'm not," she said. "There was an accident and the stain wouldn't come out and so dyeing the shirt dark covered that up and it just says a school shirt with a collar in the rulebook; nothing about the color. And I'm wearing the skirt. Just added something stylish to cover it. It's so ugly, you know."

His literature teacher seethed some more in almost-silence, told the secretary what he was in for and left.

"Hello fellow uniform violator, is this your first time here? Don't worry too much. The school only keeps so many spares and I think the last set that was our size more or less had an accident with some scissors. So they'll either send us home or put us in detention again although I haven't seen you in mine since they separate them out by years so you're younger right?"

"I'm twelve." And surprised that someone had been subverting the system that overtly. Since mafia school or not, it was still a school and could kick troublesome students out.

"Miss Deodato," came the Headmistress' voice as she opened her office door, "you know the routine. Drop the illusion and head back to class. I don't wish to see you in this office until May."

"Gotcha, Ossifraga." The cheerful and most bubbly girl he'd ever seen said as the dark colors vanished. Which did show that the white polo shirt did have a stain -paint stain it looked like- on it and that the school's uniform skirt couldn't actually reach cute even with ruffles; the school's ugly plaid killed it for all that Squalo suspected the 'accident with some scissors' was no accident and used to make the ruffles. The makeup however was real, but there were no school rules against makeup -or the net undershirts- so far as Squalo was aware so she was getting away with it.

But being an Active Mist would explain why she was still at school, even with all the disciplinary issues.

"You, cousin, in my office. We've things to discuss."

* * *

Setting down in the office across from the Headmistress would have been more nerve-wracking if he was actually twelve.

Instead he was bored, wary and very much aware that he could now arrange things to his benefit in high school. No more music classes would be a plus.

If he could convince his cousin -however distant- to do so.

The Headmistress had dark hair cut in a bob, with a streak of white in her fringe and the sort of impressive Cloud aura of terror that was more likely to cause school children to confess all their sins rather than comfort them in any way.

"First, I don't care about uniform regulations but I do care about the image of my school and my students. Please wear the official uniform during school events, on school trips and at any school functions. I could care less about what is worn otherwise so long as it's not a safety hazard, indecent or something that a teacher will report and make my issue more often than once a month. Jeans are unprofessional."

Squalo nodded. So either normalize it or make it her non-issue by not aggravating the less professional teachers. He definitely had to find some slacks then; apparently the denim had offended his teachers more than the colour.

"Second, while your uniform brought you here today, another of my teachers has reported of your tendency to fall asleep in their classes. I have to ask for what purpose."

"Boredom mostly, you."

"Boredom in that the class isn't engaging, the material isn't challenging or that it's pointless?" She asked with a gleam in her eye.

"Drafstmanship's pointless, I don't intend to pursue the cello and foreign languages have never been a challenge." He responded keeping a level stare back.

"Fair enough. If you're as good as you think you are, you won't mind staying after classes a few days next week to do a few tests to determine your level in each subject, so that we have record of it and know where to place you next year and what sort of track you'd like to follow within the school. Will I need to contact your parents about this?"

"Call Grandpa," Squalo insisted instead. His father wouldn't care but his mother was serious about music and would make a fuss. It was a Soave-thing.

"Delfino? Yes, that's acceptable. I assume he's responsible for your Flame-training. Don't let said training effect your school performance, don't show off your Flames on school grounds and don't kill anyone no matter how annoying they are. Or at least not on school grounds and without two weeks' notice for any teacher, no matter how irritating they are, as I would like to have a replacement or substitute on hand so classes can continue through whatever difficult circumstance may occur in their absence. Accidents happen, as I understand but pre-meditated murder of a teacher or student on school grounds means I'll have to deal with the police while they 'investigate' and I can't tell them to kindly fuck off just because a classroom was turned into a crime scene."

Squalo was more impressed that the Headmistress could say that with a straight face. Then again, his cousin appeared to be that special flavor of Cloud that didn't quite approach logic the same way the rest of humanity did.

"Which means that if you bring the police knocking, you shall have the unfortunate experience of getting attacked by a wild animal while camping, falling down a hillside and breaking at least six bones by the time you hit bottom. Is that understood?"

"Clearly."

"Good. Now back to class. I have idiot parents to terrorize next."  


Squalo, no fool, went back to class.

* * *

Izzy and Shark Tales lives! Muse went on vacation without notice while Izzy thought muse was being a hermit.

Also Umei says 'Ossifraga' means 'bone-breaker' and is a colloquial name for the wolverine so is rather punny but terrifying nickname. Wolverine Wolverine Superbi.

And for anyone who thinks this is lax for discipline, it is. Because Clouds are Terrifying. Hibari for all intents and purposes took over Namimori before he had Active Flames. A school that has Flame-Active and mafia-inclined students of course would have plans for the students using their powers for their own advantage, such as cheating or getting rid of a teacher they dislike. Hence the laying out of rules to follow concerning Flames and the penalty for breaking them.


End file.
